


Sights for Sore Eyes

by badideasthatshouldntbewritten



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badideasthatshouldntbewritten/pseuds/badideasthatshouldntbewritten
Summary: Tony takes Peter's training into his own hands.





	Sights for Sore Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> A little divergence from Homecoming. After the events of the movie, Peter still decides to go to Tony directly to learn the full potential of his suit. I'd say this story falls a few weeks into that training.
> 
> I don't really do alternating POV but this is one of the few instances where I think it's interesting to see what both characters are thinking for it to lead to this. Normally when I hit the 3k mark in a single chapter I'm pretty certain I won't finish it and I feel as if the POV is to thank for me getting through this.

Peter wanted to touch Tony. He wanted to touch his arms, wanted to settle a hand on the small of his back and dip down to squeeze the ass. He always liked it when his mentor dressed down, with a tendency on keeping the house cool his nipples always grew hard beneath his t-shirt. While Tony wasn’t the kind to bear-all, just seeing the imprint of nipples through a tee had Peter’s head swimming.

It was as embarrassing as it was predictable. No father figure. Tony walked in and emulated that presence, but Peter also greatly wanted to fuck him.

Desire was the sort of thing that made his mind reel with possibilities, each one dumber than the last but that rational part of him went ignored in favor of chasing fantasies. The more he imagined it, the more it seemed like a good idea but he wasn’t so stupid as to give himself away this early.

Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Tony’s nipples, eyes sweeping up to pretend he just had trouble making eye contact because he was awkward and, well, it wasn’t so much pretending because he actually was awkward.

“Guns and Roses,” Peter commented to make himself look less stupid. “I like that one song.”

“Ah,” Tony mocked. “That one song.”

“I don’t remember the name,” he played off, realizing now that he called attention to it he had no choice but to fix his gaze somewhere else. An art piece, something abstract that Peter didn’t understand that would actually call for a prolonged stare.

“Have you been testing the search feature?” Tony asked, ending the bout of silence.

An excuse to look at Tony again. Briefly, Peter promised himself. He nodded. “It’s useful. Is that your own database?”

“The Avengers’,” Tony started, lips turning in a wry smile. “But it was mine, in the beginning. I already had a lot of that information on hand doing what I did.”

“You must know everything about everyone.” That thought out of his lips, he wondered if his eyes gave himself away. He wondered if he wore it in his body language. He wondered if it sounded in his voice.

He wondered if Tony did know, if he never brought it up because he pitied Peter. That would’ve been worse than just being outright rejected, Peter thought, because even if Tony wouldn’t have touched him, he still wished for the man to see him as an equal.

“The only thing you end up knowing is that even with all that, you still don’t know enough.” Both the look he had and the tone he spoke in were incredibly distant, eyes apparently looking at the same painting Peter had pretended to be interested in before. He clapped suddenly. “Well, enough talk. Grab yourself a soda and meet me downstairs so we can get started.”

-

Hands on. Kids learned well that way, Tony figured. He had Peter testing out features of his new suit in one of the more secured rooms. It beat the hell out of how the boy previously decided to learn his suit functions.

“You can cast netting that’s fitted with a powerful adhesive,” Tony explained. “Try for that can there,” he gestured toward the can Peter had been drinking from. “Pin it to the wall without spilling any of it.”

Peter focused, aimed his hand and despite a worrisome rattling of the can not a single drop had spilled.

“Now tell me what the practical application of that would be.”

“Apprehension?” Peter asked.

“That’s the easy one. What else?”

Peter stilled for a moment, raking through the possibilities. “Oh! It could get the gun out of the hands of someone trying to use it.”

“Bingo. That’ll be a big one, whether they’re aiming at you or civilians. Think of it as evening the playing field.” From there, he gave him further instructions, other items to pin in specific orientations or specialized instructions, a chain of them to keep the boy occupied while Tony could get a good look at thighs and ass in tights that adjusted perfectly to the contours of the body. His eyes passed along the pleasing curvature of the lower back, up to shoulders that, while defined, were still quite slim.

It wasn’t the first time he had those thoughts. Certainly wasn’t the first time he caught himself looking, but where was the harm in that?

“How’s that, Mr. Stark?”

Tony gave a cursory glance at the work. “Great, kid. Now try bringing stuff closer to you. Nothing easy, try to make it challenging.” Just to give the boy more work while he eyed him up and down.

The “Mr. Stark”s always got to him, always eager to please and hopeful for praise. Always raised a little in pitch at the “a” in Stark. It made it easy to place in other contexts.

The boy faced him suddenly, and caught in his haze Tony mapped the shapes of chest and arms before he was startled by webbing shot toward him, only to grip onto the base of his swivel chair to pull him closer.

The boy laughed. Tony smiled, now in his proximity Tony couldn’t help the thoughts of pulling the boy onto his lap. Not pressing, just a thought of passing fancy.

“You’re lighter than I thought,” Peter admitted, taking a step back.

“It’s still impressive,” Tony appraised. “You have good control over your suit.”

“Were you worried?”

“Not really, you’re a smart kid. I see a little of myself in you.” The double entendre wasn’t intended, though Tony still betrayed a smirk when he realized the dual meaning and Peter cocked his head in a way that clearly indicated he was missing something. “I was just thinking, I had some bad stints as a kid,” Tony saved. “You’ve got more of the good aspects.”

“I can’t imagine you ever being bad.”

Tony really wanted to laugh then, but he was more mindful. “Sometimes I still am.”

“No way,” Peter insisted. “You’re, like, the greatest guy I know,” presented with such a wide-eyed genuineness that Tony almost believed it for himself.

“I’m on a good streak right now. Just wait and see, you’ll catch me being bad one of these days.”

-

The hero business wasn’t as cut and dry as Peter initially thought. Take ‘good’ and ‘bad’ for instance, the whole issue between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. Sure, Peter leaned toward Tony’s side of things, but he acknowledged his bias. Removed from that, he really wouldn’t have known which side to take.

That’s what made him so curious to see what Tony meant by bad, and while he hounded the man for some examples he side-stepped, dismissed or outright ignored Peter’s questions.

It was annoying, but Peter wasn’t so easily discouraged. They took a break to eat after Tony ordered pizza for the two of them. Tony had forgotten to ask for paper plates, and instead of going upstairs to get some dinnerware he unfolded two napkins to hold their respective slices.

“I’m bad sometimes too,” Peter pushed just to force the topic of conversation. “I lie to my aunt.”

“You lie to do the right thing,” Tony argued. “It’s not exactly being bad.”

Peter hesitated for a moment. “It’s not like that’s the only thing.”

Tony snorted.

“I mean it!” Cheese melted off of his slice and onto his lap. It didn’t burn, the suit thick and heat-resistant, but he grabbed another napkin and furiously wiped at the stain. “Damn it. I’m sorry.”

Tony laughed. “It’s your suit.”

“I know, but,” Peter paused. “Actually, I don’t know.” Once it was as clean as it was going to get, he tossed the napkin. “Will the stain come out?”

“Not in a regular washing cycle. I’ve got something for special suits. Just finish eating and then we’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, good.” He felt like a little kid now, spilling all over of himself, talking without any thought behind it, Tony laughing at him. He wanted to grumble to himself, or better yet bury himself alive for a month until Tony forgot about this.

Brought upstairs again, Peter changed into the set of clothes he came in with while Tony brought him to a closet that served as a large clothing steam room, several recognizable suits hanging.

“There’s one at the headquarters too, but a lot happens in the area so I keep a few on backup for them.”

He hung Peter’s suit among them, closed the closet door and commanded his voice assistant to begin the cleaning cycle. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

-

Because there wasn’t much point to training without the suit, Tony found himself across from the boy in the sitting room. Peter had the looks of someone with a question on his mind so he waited to brush the boy off again.

“I know you think I’m a really good kid, and I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve been bad before.”

He was surprised this came up again, an element of Peter trying to prove himself but also trying to relate with Tony. The insistence was awfully cute. “Save it. We’re not going further into this.”

“I just want you to talk to me.”

That was a stab of guilt if Tony ever felt one. He sighed. “I’m listening, then. How is it that you’re bad?”

Then silence, as he expected. But then Peter turned his head, worried his bottom lip. “I think it’s great that you help me and teach me all this stuff, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t think it’s enough.”

“That’s completely understandable, Peter. There’s really never enough training in the world to prepare you for-”

“No, no.” Peter shook his head. “The training is fine, I think. It’s not that I don’t think the training is enough. It’s that I want more from you.”

Tony was too old for this. Too old to extract any deeper meaning or figuring out if if this was a roundabout way to accuse Tony of not being dedicated enough in preparing the world’s newest hero. He wouldn’t damn himself by assuming. “Despite the impression you might have of me, I’m actually a pretty dumb guy. I need you to be straightforward so we can address whatever problem it is you think you’re having.”

Peter made a noise, a groan that was equal parts embarrassed and equal parts annoyed. “I don’t think- I know I have a problem. Everything you do for me is great. It’s more than I ever really could have imagined or wanted and it’s like a dream right now and I know you see me as some kid who's in over his head and I feel stupid even bringing this up and I shouldn't have said anything but now it's too late so- I think you're really hot.”

Thankfully Peter ended on what he meant because Tony had lost track during the word salad. He was surprised, but it was muted. More than feeling any sort of shock, his loins pulsed with interest. That was before his mind reigned in the reaction and told him to take a little responsibility.

Despite years of public speaking practice hammered into him, his first response was, “And that's bad?” and damn it that wasn't responsible at all.

-

Even if Peter felt like an idiot, even if he just about beared all and made a fool of himself, he felt lighter, glad at the very least that Tony would be forced to listen to him and reject him properly.

He still braced himself when it came, when Tony shifted in his seat and said, “And that's bad”?

Well, that hadn't been the response he'd expected. Caught off guard, he responded before thinking. “I think so?” Now second guessing it, himself.

And there was that moment, loaded silence, awaiting the other to speak and Peter felt it, that madness of desire toning the stupid down and telling him to go with the tide. It wasn’t confidence, only an opportunity to be taken. “I think about you a lot. Especially when I look at you.”

Tony dressed his discomfort with poise. Posture was all there, the giveaway was the face. Stare laser-focused, brows furrowed, mouth tight, waiting.

Peter knew you never kept a man like Mr. Stark waiting. He sat up, projected a command of the situation his body had that his mind hadn’t. “You want to hear how?”

Tony put up a hand, ultimately dismissive but the wave of it was half-hearted. “No, that's alright,” Mystified in timbre. “You should probably get going. It's getting late.”

“Mr. Stark, I'm not asking anything from you. I just want you to talk to me.”

“It's not the sort of thing we should be talking about.”

“I know,” Peter affirmed. “Trust me, I know that.”

Tony held, shifted again, crossed a leg and sat back. “Then why are we discussing this?”

“Look, I know it's stupid. I just don't care. Not anymore. Not now that it's out there and you know.”

“It's a waste of time. You don't stand to gain anything from this conversation.”

“No,” Peter interjected. “No, I don't think that's true. I think, and I might be wrong, I think there's really something there.”

“You think there's something there?” Tony smacked his lips, a noise of frustration, a moment of padding to find the words. “You don't realize the age difference.”

“I like the age difference.”

That was his gotcha.

-

No matter how Tony sat, he couldn't get comfortable. Though the man couldn’t pin down whether the cause for it was rapid-fire brainstorming for damage control or memories of Peter's back in the suit.

But God damn it, the man had discipline. Or so he thought.

“I trust you,” Peter continued, because Tony just couldn't find the words to mitigate, leaving the boy to dig further into his resolve. “You can do whatever you want with me, I trust you,” he stressed the word trust, as if setting Tony with burden or expectation.

Not asking anything from him? Ha. Or it would've been funny if it wasn't for an active imagination already testing the limits of the boy's trust.

“And then what?” Tony prompted.

“That's it,” Peter conceded. “That's all it has to be.”

“That's easy to say now.”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded.

“Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Peter acknowledged, fitted with a hard stare that didn’t suit his soft features.

“Get up, then,” Tony commanded. “Undress.” The intended effect was intimidation, but after a moment’s silence the boy nodded again and stood, first with the shirt, pulling it off over his shoulders but he did hesitate around the pants. This was where the boy would balk, Tony was sure of it, but then Peter worried his lip and his gaze became distant and he undid his belt.

It wasn’t exactly in line with fantasy. Tony’s mind always factored in the suit, peeling it off while it was still fitted to him. On a rooftop somewhere, or in a parking garage on the hood of an expensive car. Sweat causing the hair to stick to the boy’s forehead and Tony prying the clinging suit off of the boy’s sweat-slicked back and shoulders.

This was nice too. Belt undid, once the button came undone Peter’s jeans pooled around his ankles. Good definition on his chest and stomach, though slim down from thigh to calf.

“Stop there.” Tony raised the fingers on his hand to halt the boy, then drew a circle in the air with his index finger. “Turn around slowly.”

Faced with a well-developed back, his eyes swept down to a tight midsection and a scrawny ass. He always preferred slim, so this wasn’t a far cry from normal.

Man, Pepper would’ve hit him for thinking that. Pepper would’ve killed him for doing this.

This was just another notch in an already bad track record, he figured. The Iron Man suit was strong, the human dawning it unremarkable. Beneath that, he was weaker than most. Really, this had just been a matter of time.

All that was left were a pair of boxers, Tony’s mind already branching with the different possibilities. The current option pretty tame compared to the alternatives, the boy naked in front of him, invited to take a seat on his lap and just sit there for a time while Tony learned every groove and protrusion with his fingertips.

Or he could’ve brought him upstairs to a bedroom, having the boy move into position after position for as long as Tony’s virility would allow.

Something like a cross between the two seemed the most appealing. He motioned for Peter to move closer, the boy taking a few paces forward and standing at attention. He couldn’t smile up at him, he didn’t have it in him, but he felt his own brows raised with eagerness.

-

“Anything?” Tony repeated.

“Anything.” This felt like a finality, the last affirmation before proceeding. While Peter felt self conscious and nervous, the thrill gripping his heart and stomach made no room for inhibitions.

Tony called for his robotic assistant to drop off a lubricant, a metal arm descending from the ceiling to drop the bottle delicately into his hand and Peter couldn’t help the thought of being bent over a chair with said metal arm preparing him as Tony watched.

Thankfully, Tony made it personal. Not yet commanding Peter to fully undress, he squeezed a coating of lube out onto his fingers and hooked an arm around the boy’s lower back to steady him. The lubed hand fit into a leg of Peter’s boxers, a single finger squeezed its way into his hole.

At that, Peter inhaled sharply. He hadn’t expected Tony to be so gungho, and while fear gripped his gut for a moment his hard cock had fed on the reaction. He could feel himself leaking, the drip of precum moving so slowly down his shaft that it was maddening.

The finger didn’t hurt. He’d expected it to, but it didn’t. It was a strange, tight sensation. He knew enough about this, that it could hurt if he didn’t remain relaxed, didn’t remain focused on keeping himself open but his boxers damp from his drooling slit served as a great distraction and he so greatly wished to be rid of them. This was Tony’s show, however. If Tony wanted them on, they’d stay on.

It was interesting how after his mind lingered on it, Tony’s eyes were drawn in by his erection. He’d slipped a second finger in along the first and used the hand around his back to straighten Peter’s posture, to push out his hips just a little bit.

Even over the boxers, he felt Tony’s breath hot on the head of his cock. He never would’ve even dreamed of this image, Tony’s mouth descending on the damp-darkened spot of his boxers and pressing his tongue flat.

“Oh my God,” he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to say it a dozen more times and it was only when the third finger edged in that he realized he hadn’t even felt the fingers stretching him. How many more, he wondered, until Tony decided to fuck him?

That answer came quick, with the awkward small bend of knuckles inside of him for Tony to fit a fourth finger, which really only resulted in the tip of his pinky easing in. It didn’t allow him much give, fingers hardly moving any further aside from a few shifts and wiggles to have them all settle inside.

He withdrew them, Tony removing his mouth in kind, and folded down the waistband of the boxers over and over again until they’d been pulled down past his thighs and he was truly naked, air cold on his cock.

Getting fellated by Tony Stark would never go forgotten on his list of life achievements. Tony’s mouth was hot on him, taking great care at lapping up precum on shaft and head. Unexpectedly deft at fellatio, and he’d known the man was once wild but he hadn’t a clue just how far it went.

Skill like this had to be practiced, Peter given images of the man giving the likes of Thor a friendly blowjob. Sensation and fantasy in tow, the boy had no hopes of lasting, exploding in the man’s mouth with as much gusto as embarrassment.

Though it wasn’t as if he was really performing, and he beat down that embarrassment when Tony rather carefully cleaned everything off of his oversensitive prick. Peter was still hard when Tony pushed his boxers the rest of the way off. It didn’t seem so fair that he was fully naked while Tony was still fully dressed.

The man nodded toward the adjacent chair. “Lean on the backrest, ass out,” his voice rougher and deeper than Peter had ever heard it.

Peter did as he was told and watched, finally treated to the sight of Tony standing and undressing. Partially, at least. Unbuttoning his own jeans, pushing them just below his ass and pulling his hard cock out from over the waistband of his own boxer briefs.

He picked up the lube he’d dropped beside him on the chair, coated himself with a few lingering strokes before he made his way behind Peter and settled a hand on the hip. A few fingers dipped in again, slowly, testing him before withdrawing.

“Brace yourself,” Tony warned.

Once Peter made a noise of acknowledgement, he felt the head push slowly into his ring. It felt more solid than the fingers, stretching the skin thin. Now this hurt, but he imagined being a spectator to footage of him being fucked by Tony stark and that kept him pliant, kept him waiting for the feeling of the man bottoming out in him where he felt Tony’s hipbones press up against his ass.

It did hurt, but it felt good. Having someone tucked so deeply inside, the heat of skin on skin. The hand on his hip tightened, the hand used to guide his cock moved onto his lower back with fanned fingers. One of the fingers on that hand trailed along the bumps of his spine and Tony pulled himself partway out.

Peter threw a look over his shoulder, the man’s lips halfway parted and eyes glazed. Tony breathed in quietly, but exhaled loudly and moved his hips forward again to bottom out.

There was a slow build to this rhythm, Peter unsure whether for his sake or Tony’s or both. Peter had mostly gotten used to the feeling by the time Tony picked up the pace to consistent slow passes, no longer stopping when fully in or halfway out. 

Every couple of thrusts he moved a little faster, fucked a little harder, the hand on his hip holding on a little tighter while the hand on his back moved up a little higher until Tony was moving so fast, fucking so hard, holding on so tight and was pushing down so firm between his shoulder blades that Peter wasn’t so sure he’d ever be able to pick himself up off the armchair.

He sort of heard it coming, sort of felt it when Tony’s breathing and his hips had lost their rhythm. Bucked and buried so deeply inside and holding, a few very short thrusts made as preamble to loud, stuttered breathing of the man over him. Tony was already hot inside him, he could only barely tell that the man had come by feeling alone, but he was signalled every other way.

Peter enjoyed it, enjoyed Tony’s hands on him, enjoyed the man softening slowly inside him because he knew these were the last few moments. That was all it had to be, after all. He had every intention of being true to his word.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel empty when Tony pulled out of him. Cum spilled out and dripped down his thighs. It cooled on his skin. He immediately missed the heat of it.

“Satisfied?” Tony managed in a bit of a grumble.

In a way, yes. In another, how could he possibly have been with this alone? But Peter nodded anyway.

-

The suit was clean by the time they had cleaned up, Tony passing it back to the boy before he left for the night. He’d accepted it with a thanks.

Peter swallowed as if he had something to say, and Tony gave him the courtesy of a chance to say it. Though nothing, the gaze only lingered longer than normal.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

He clutched the suit tightly to himself. “Night.”

Once he’d shown the boy out, Tony went back into the sitting room and seated himself in the chair he fucked Peter on. He sighed and asked his robotic assistant for a glass of scotch to ring out the night.

Tony Stark was a very stupid man.


End file.
